The Fifth Edition of Drabbles for the 100-Drabble Challenge
by NirCele
Summary: This collection contains: #2 - Pet; #21 - Stealing; #30 - Crossing the Line; #47 - The Nature of Evil; #49 - A Simple Delight; #61 - Falling; #70 - I Am Still Here; and #93 - Deadline.


**#2 – Pet**

"_Nana_, we found a pet! Can we keep it?!"

Celebrían smiled as she looked down at her young sons – then her expression changed to one of horror and she leapt backwards in shock. "GET THAT OUT OF HERE!"

"But we –"

"OUT!"

"Fine!" they grumbled in unison, stomping out of her chambers and down the long trek to the gardens again. Once there, they stopped next to the tree where they had found their 'pet' and sat down, letting the creature free.

Then they watched as the hairy spider, almost as big as their tiny torsos, scurried into the bushes.

"" "" ""

**#21 – Stealing**

"It's not stealing if they leave it out on the counter for you," Elladan and Elrohir tried to convince Glorfindel. The Balrog-slayer raised a golden eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"Mm-hm," mumbled Elladan, stuffing one of the pastries in his mouth. He picked up another and offered it to Glorfindel, who sighed.

"I do not think I should partake in these stolen delicacies," the Balrog-slayer said primly, though he was eyeing them eagerly.

"The cooks really won't mind," Elrohir assured him. He and Elladan had almost been in despair when the door to the closest they were hiding in had been opened, but both sighed in relief when they had seen that it was just Glorfindel. _Him_ they could convince to join their side.

"See? Yum!" said Elladan, popping the pastry in his mouth and reaching for another one.

Glorfindel finally gave in, reaching out and snagging a sweet, devouring it in one bite. He groaned and closed his eyes. "Oh…those are so good!"

"Exactly!" Elrohir agreed; he and his brother exchanged triumphant grins.

"But now you're both going to help the cooks make more," Glorfindel decreed, then turned and left the pantry, a grin spreading across his face as he formed a plan to sweet-talk one of the maids and get some more of the delicious tidbits.

Elladan and Elrohir groaned, then finished the plate off.

"" "" ""

**#30 – Crossing the Line**

Elrond found Lindir in the stables – and odd place for a minstrel to be, certainly. He was curled up in the straw, sobbing into his arms. A lyre was clutched in his hands, most of the strings cut cleanly in half.

Elrond hesitated, then lifted the hem of his robes and stepped into the straw beside Lindir; he knelt and placed his hand on the minstrel's shoulder. Lindir's head came up, startled, and his red-swollen eyes widened. He gasped and sat up quickly, clasping the broken lyre to his chest. "I – I'm sorry, I'll go somewhere else; I didn't mean to disturb anyone –"

"Lindir," interrupted Elrond calmly. "It's fine. May I see?" He gestured to the lyre and held his hand out.

Lindir hesitated for a long moment, then bit his trembling lips and tenderly placed the instrument in his hands. Elrond nodded his thanks and examined it, turning it to frown at the cut strings. "Ah, I see the problem. Do you know who did this?"

Lindir blinked and looked at the floor, obviously choosing to stay silent and protect whoever had ruined his favorite instrument. "It matters not, my lord," he said in a whisper, then sniffed, trying to contain the tears he had so masterfully stopped.

"Oh, it doesn't?" Elrond raised an eyebrow, but looked back down at the instrument and hummed disapprovingly. "I think I know who it – or _they_ – were anyway. I'll have someone work on fixing this right away…Lindir?"

The minstrel had just raised his hand silently to wipe away a tear that trickled down his face, and he looked despondently at his lyre. "Yes, my lord?"

Elrond patted him on the shoulder, then stood. "I'm going to give this to the Master of Instruments to repair; is there anything else I should know?"

"No," Lindir said quietly.

Elrond gave him a long, searching look, then nodded and left. Lindir sniffed, then curled back up in the straw, not caring who might see him. No tears came this time.

"" "" ""

**#47 – The Nature of Evil**

"NOOOO!"

Glorfindel's head snapped up at the anguished wail and he left the dead orcs he had been examining to run toward the voice, panic fueling his steps. He came upon a most desolate scene, one he would remember for the rest of time.

Elladan was clutching his mother, her body bloodied and broken. The twin's head was thrown back, screaming his anger and fear to the sky, then he bent over her, holding her tightly and shuddering fiercely. A few feet away, Elrohir was on his knees, tears streaming down his face as he desperately wiped blood from her face and searched for signs of life.

The beautiful daughter of the Lord and Lady of the Woods; the golden Lady of Imladris; beloved wife of Lord Elrond; mother to the Peredhil children; and one of the most enchanting, wise elves Glorfindel had yet met lay still, while her sons grieved above her.

"" "" ""

**#49 – A Simple Delight**

"I have a new motto!" Glorfindel announced to the world. "I've decided to do this with much thought."

"You mean your old one; 'My hair is fabulous!' isn't good enough for you?" Erestor inquired innocently, and Glorfindel nodded, beaming.

Erestor suspected the Balrog-slayer was being vacuous on purpose.

"My new motto is now 'If it rhymes, it must be true!'" Glorfindel beamed and readied himself for applause.

There wasn't any, mostly because he was in Erestor's office and the adviser was the only one listening.

Erestor's face seemed to move in what seemed to be a smile, but Glorfindel could never be sure with him. "Oh, you mean anything that rhymes is true?"

"Well, it must be," said Glorfindel, and grinned.

"Ah." Erestor picked up a quill and went back to his work, the corner of his mouth suspiciously quirked.

"" "" ""

**#61 – Falling**

"What's this?" Glorfindel asked when Erestor walked up to him and pressed a piece of paper into his hand.

Erestor made a face like, 'Well, open it and see, silly.'

Strange how Erestor's expressions were so particular.

Glorfindel opened the folded paper and read it.

_O! Glorfindel fair,_

_Who looked like a bear;_

_Pulled down by his hair_

_Cried, "Why? It's not fair!"_

_The maidens stood there,_

_And took in his stare;_

_It changed to a glare_

_Which just made them drool._

"Oh, well, look at this!" exclaimed Glorfindel happily.

Erestor waited. Then waited a little longer. Finally he was tired of Glorfindel beaming like an idiot at him. "It's a rhyme!" he said, and Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, I can see that."

"You said that your new motto was 'If it rhymes, it must be true'," Erestor reminded him.

"Oh, that silly thing. I changed it ages ago!"

"YOU JUST TOLD ME THIS MORNING."

Glorfindel sighed sadly and pocketed the piece of paper. "My dear Erestor," he said, trying to pat the adviser on the head but changing his mind at the last second because it looked like Erestor was about to bite him, "if you want to make fun of me, you really should do it with some better material than this."

"I wrote that!" howled Erestor, his skills severely insulted.

Glorfindel looked mildly surprised. "Really? I didn't know you were a poet!"

"Aw, I was a poet and you didn't know it?" Erestor mocked, then spun and stormed away.

Glorfindel scratched his head, then shrugged. Erestor, leaving with that witty rhyming remark, still felt like he had gotten the wrong end of the conversation.

"" "" ""

**#70 – I Am Still Here**

"Eres_tor_!"

"But you need to write the report, or do you want any other patrols to get hurt when they go there? It should be done by…" Erestor trailed off, raising an eyebrow at the annoyed glower Glorfindel was shooting him.

"I'm wounded," the Balrog-slayer complained, holding a hand to his bandaged side as he tried to keep up with the adviser's brisk walk.

"Oh, pff, you've been worse." Erestor waved off his complaints and shoved a bundle of papers into his hands. "There, fill that in then give it to me by tomorrow evening." With that, he turned and left, black robes swishing around his ankles.

"But I'm _wounded_," Glorfindel called after the retreating back, and huffed when the adviser flapped his hand dismissively and kept walking. "At least I'm still here!" he tried as a last resort. "What if I had died on that patrol?"

"You wouldn't die," Erestor said over his shoulder, the answer already thought up, and he continued on. "Why would the Valar send you back just to die on a mission _I_ sent you to?"

Glorfindel glanced down at the papers, then let out a very undignified howl. "_Sixty-two papers_?! What do you think I am, Erestor, a writing machine?"

Erestor rolled his eyes.

"" "" ""

**#93 – Deadline**

"GIVE ME MY PAPERS BACK!" roared Erestor, sprinting down the hall after Glorfindel, who was cackling gleefully as he danced just out of reach, the parchments fluttering over his head.

Elrond watched the two go by with a calm look on his face, and he turned back to the envoy from Lothlórien. "Yes, that's my Captain of the Guard and Chief Councilor," he said in response to the gaping jaws. "They act quite…childish at times, but as long as they meet the deadlines I put, they're fine."

"Glorfindel!" came a shriek from down the hall, and Elrond smiled congenially. "This way, if you will," he said, and led the diplomats toward the Hall of Fire.


End file.
